David Wishart - In at the Death

‘Oh, no!’ She frowned. Then she said, hesitantly: ‘I suppose he genuinely did hang himself? I mean — ’

‘Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I thought.’ I blew out the lamp and got in beside her. ‘Jury’s still out. Not that it matters all that much in the long run. The really odd thing was that Mescinius found a key in the guy’s desk that fits the lock of the top-floor flat.’

Perilla sat up. ‘But that’s — ’

‘Really odd. Right. I just said so.’

‘Marcus, there wasn’t another key to the flat! Not one that Caepio should’ve had, anyway.’

‘Check. Even slow-as-paint-drying Mescinius noticed that. There was the one on the board, that Papinius took, that was found on the body and that Mescinius still has, and a second that was on Caepio’s duplicate bunch; I know that for a fact, because I used it myself when I was inspecting the flat. So where did the third come from? And why did Caepio have it?’

Long silence. Then she said slowly: ‘Of course, if it was the one the murderers used to get in — ’

‘Then Caepio must’ve given them it. In which case he knew who they were, and he was involved after all up to his eyeballs. Yeah, I’d got that far myself. But it doesn’t make sense. Caepio wasn’t lying; no way was he lying! So why did he have that extra key?’

‘Unless he didn’t. The same people who killed Papinius could’ve murdered Caepio and put it in the desk themselves.’

‘Why the hell would they do that?’

‘To implicate Caepio? I mean, if a third key were found — ’

I punched the mattress. ‘Perilla, that is crazy! It’d be a wasted effort! Caepio was no killer, not even by proxy! I’d swear to that myself!’

‘All right. Then where did the key come from? Look, what are the options? Either Caepio had the key originally and gave it to the murderers who gave it back when they were finished, or they had their own key and slipped it into the desk when they faked Caepio’s suicide. There isn’t any other explanation.’

‘Fine. So let’s take them one at a time.’ I leaned back on the pillow and closed my eyes. ‘Scenario one. It assumes premeditation on the part of Caepio and/or his boss Carsidius. Right?’

‘Why?’

‘Perilla, it’s a third key. Tenement flats only have two on-site, one for the tenant and one for the factor, and where the top flat’s concerned they’re accounted for. Either Caepio had to have it specially made, or he had to get the already-existing third from Carsidius’s bailiff on some pretext or other, or Carsidius had to get it from his bailiff himself. Which means that either the one or the both of them decoyed Papinius to the tenement, which means that they’re individually or jointly the murderers, or at least they instigated the killing. You follow?’

‘Of course I follow. I told you, I’m not gormless.’

‘Good. Don’t sniff. Motive’s fine, or possibly fine: Carsidius was working some scam to do with compensation for property lost or damaged in the Aventine fire, the kid found out and threatened to report it. Opportunity, too: it was Carsidius’s tenement, and getting Papinius there at a suitable time would’ve been easy-peasie. There’re only two flies in the ointment, but they’re biggies. One, both Caepio and Carsidius swore they’d nothing to do with Papinius’s death, and for different reasons I believe them. Two, why should the actual killers return the key at all? It’s served its purpose. Why not chuck it in the Tiber or something similar and get rid of the incriminating evidence?’

‘So you think the second theory’s the more likely? That the murderers — double murderers — planted it to implicate Caepio, and through him Carsidius?’

‘Gods, lady, I don’t know! If they weren’t in Carsidius’s pay then how did they get their hands on a key in the first place? Whose pay were they in, if anyone’s? And why target a respectable senator and his factor? Besides, there was no guarantee lamebrain Mescinius would even find it, quite the reverse. The second scenario’s just too fucking complicated.’

‘Marcus — ’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I know. But I just feel where this case is concerned that I’m bashing my head against a brick wall.’ I put an arm round her. ‘Whichever way you turn it, it doesn’t make any sense. One thing, though. Caepio had beans to spill, and so does his boss. Carsidius may be no killer, or not of Papinius anyway, but he’s in something, somewhere, up to his neck, and he’s covering like crazy.’

She snuggled against me. ‘Don’t worry. It’ll work out eventually.’

Yeah. Right. When pigs sprouted wings and looped the loop above Capitol Hill.

I woke up the next morning no further forward. Okay; so what now?

I’d tried things head-on and got nowhere; it’d been like looking at one of these Parthian rugs proper-side-up, at the pattern the weaver wants you to see. Fine. So let’s do it another way: turn the rug over on its front and look at the underside. Lucius Carsidius might be squeaky-clean and one of the doyens of the senate, but like I’d said to Perilla the guy was covering something; that I’d bet my back teeth on. I hadn’t forgotten Mucius Soranus and his good friend — however much she denied it — Lucia Albucilla, either. Plus various odds and sundries that I’d think up as matters progressed.

All of which meant I needed to talk to one guy: Caelius Crispus.

We went back a long way, Crispus and me; certainly further than he’d like to recall sober. Not that it made for a good relationship, because the bugger would cheerfully have eaten my liver raw. So. Not exactly a friend. Nonetheless, if the three-faced, immoral, slimy, blackmailing bastard did happen to be run down by a cart as he was crossing the road or — more likely — was pulled out of the Tiber wearing concrete boots something precious would go out of the world. The air would smell cleaner, mind, but in his own sweet way Crispus was unique, a professional dirt-digger to his carefully-manicured fingernails who took an honest pride in his work and a craftsman’s delight in thoroughness and attention to detail. As a result, what he didn’t know about the top five hundred’s dirty linen just wasn’t worth the effort.

Well, the good thing about last night was that Placida was firmly grounded. After Lippillus and Marcina had gone, I’d sent in the heavy squad, they’d dragged her out from the bush she was lying under in a sturgeon-induced stupor, and we’d shackled her in ignominy to one of the peristyle pillars. Not even Perilla objected. And if Sestia Calvina had turned up unexpectedly the lady would probably have punched her lights out.Perilla can get very serious about some things, like sturgeon cooked in saffron wine must, for example. And she has a vicious left hook.

So no walkies today. I ate a quick breakfast and set out for Market Square. If he hadn’t been poisoned, knifed, strangled or more legitimately disposed of by one of his erstwhile victims, Crispus would be over at the praetors’ offices on the Capitol where he was one of the foreign judges’ reps. With any luck I could catch him and make his day while the bastard was still fresh enough to enjoy it.

Market Square, as it usually is that time of the morning, was already heaving. There must’ve been another senate session pending, because the area between the senate-house and the Julian Hall was packed with broad-stripers in groups of two or three, engaged in the quaint time-honoured Roman custom of pre-session wheeling and dealing, backbiting and general character assassination. I noticed, over by the senate-house door, Lucius Carsidius in deep conversation with a couple of other senior broad-stripers, one of whom was my old pal Lucius Arruntius. Carsidius glanced up as I passed, then turned his back when I gave him a cheery wave. Arruntius ignored me, too. Yeah, well; it’s nice to be popular.